


the coming of our golden age

by buckyjerkbarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AIN'T NOBODY DYING IN MY HOUSE BITCH, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Infinity War, Fixing It Before It’s Broken, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Nobody is Dead, and they're not the least bit sorry about it, go ahead and @ me idc idc, steve and bucky have been through too much shit to end like this, they love each other and would tear down the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 07:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyjerkbarnes/pseuds/buckyjerkbarnes
Summary: Bucky’s heart came to a stuttering halt in his chest: Steve, almost obscured if Bucky wasn't so used to finding him in places he wasn't supposed to be, was boot to boot with Thanos. He gripped the golden gauntlet in both his hands, despite one of the purple fucker’s arms being the size of his torso.The mad titan looked as though his day had just been made.[Or the one where everything works out and no one dies because I'm stuck in the denial stage. Speaking this into existence!]





	the coming of our golden age

**Author's Note:**

> Literally I woke two of my three roommates up this morning when the trailer dropped from yelling "WHAT THE FUCK" when Cap grabbed hold of the gauntlet. I have watched the trailer an unhealthy number of times and I have it now confirmed that nothing will prepare me for this film. Enjoy! 
> 
> Also check the end note for a few explanations!!
> 
> Edit: 4/28/18- LMAO WOW WE WERE SO WRONG AHAHAHAHAHHAHA FUCK

He was late to the arrival. 

According to Shuri's transmission, a quinjet delivering a majority of what used to make up the Avengers was to arrive by the mid-afternoon. From what he understood, there was a force beyond the vibranium that made Wakanda the technological wonder that it was, something called an infinity stone that had fallen to earth millions of years previous on the land of which he stood. It had an effect on the soul, a good one, depending on the hands that yield it, but an actual titan from space was searching for it and would not stop until he cleared a path to his own violent victory.

The King was adamant that they had the resources, the man-power, to defend it. 

It was the least that Bucky owed him, owed the Princess, for all they had done to see he was made himself again.

As he hurried down the spiraled structure cutting through the center of the lab, a group was already assembled, speaking low and strained. The Vision was seated on the edge of a medical examination bed with Maximoff's hand curled to his shoulder. The Widow had changed her hair, lightened her eyebrows. Rhodes was on his feet again. Wilson... no change there, but Sam was a creature of habit. 

All of these things were observed with a brief sweep of his gaze, assessing. 

And then he landed on Steve. 

His heart did something funny in his chest, leaping against his ribs like a magnet trying to reach its matching, opposing pole. When he really thought about it, the fluttering, the leaping? It wasn't funny at all. For the first time since nineteen forty-five, hell, forty-two, the only things in his head were pieces that he wanted to be there. No Hydra. No Zola. No Pierce. Not even a hint of Zemo. He was just Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf. 

His footsteps filtered into the space, prompting Rhodes to ask: "Who else is coming?" 

To which T'Challa shared a smile with his little sister. 

Rounding the bend, Bucky slowed to a stop, not wishing to startle. Vision and Rhodes had been on Stark's team, likely thought he was still some unhinged beast kept on too long of a leash. He wasn’t that thing any longer. He’d prove it to them, in time. Every set of eyes had turned and settled on him, but Bucky only cared about—

Steve's eyes were so blue and soft his in his face, his brows pinched together. His hair was longer than it had ever been, at least that Bucky's seen it and the thought that he hadn't been around to see any part of Steve made his sternum pang. A thick, gold-brown beard covered the lower half of his face. Good for cover, for attempting to evade facial recognition software. 

A hush fell over the room as he closed the distance, treading carefully. His sandals scuffed against the tile: he'd worn them because Shuri hated them, given her no open-toed shoes policy and her banter was always enough to lighten the mood.

“Bucky?” Steve asked softly.

He stepped up his pace, cleared the length of the room in an impressive number of strides to take Steve in his arms and grip him tight. Steve let out a shaking breath into Bucky’s shoulder, like he hadn’t properly breathed since they parted. His hands rising to clench into the material of Bucky’s dashiki, nose burrowed in the crook between Bucky’s shoulder and neck. He was so warm, thriving with life and strength and he smelt like stale air and gunpowder and Bucky loved him so fucking much he felt as though he could shake apart from it.

“S’me,” he whispered. “It’s me, Stevie.”

They stood like that for longer than was probably socially acceptable, A few cleared throats, sure, someone even whistled a handful of notes. There was even a bit of awkward weight shifting.

"So?" It was Wilson's voice that filtered sharply through the bubble that had formed around them. Steve gave a near-indiscernible jerk, as though he’d forgotten most of his associates were in the immediate vicinity. They parted, but did not move more than a half a foot away from the other. Bucky narrowed his eyes with the sort of acidity that could strip paint, found Wilson glaring back just as intensely. "Are you  _you_  now? Or is someone gonna say  _beef stroganoff_ or  _socket wrench_ and set you off again?" 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Bucky shook his head: "It's all me up here." His eyes caught Steve's again, said softer: "It's all me." 

The smile that broke over Steve's face was blinding, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's great, Buck," he said, nodding, tongue darting out to dampen his lower lip. Bucky pretended not to see it tremble. "That's…”

Bucky grinned at him. “Don’t I know it, pal.”

Widow nodded at him from over Steve’s shoulder. Her mouth twisted into the approximation of a half-smile, no teeth. “It’s good to finally meet you, Sergeant.”

“Bucky,” he said. “It’s just Bucky.”  

"I have your suit," Shuri interjected, her smile soft as she flicked her eyes between him and Steve. Just like her brother, Shuri had the ability to look at and  _though_ you, like she could read you better than a book. "I've fitted it with a few upgrades." 

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. "Since... since yesterday?" 

Shuri gave a  _look_. 

He held up his hands, shot her a small smile. "If you can make it better, make it better. Thank you, Princess." 

She huffed, pointedly turned her gaze to T'Challa. "The white boy gets it." 

 

* * *

 

There was a beat of calm just before the battle, the storm approaching crackling with electricity and something more foreboding that Bucky didn’t much like to think about. It didn't last more than three minutes, but Bucky made it count. 

He was so tired of wasting time. 

Managing to get Steve alone for a moment, sheltered away together in a quiet corner just outside the chaos of weapons assemblage and loading up onto the transport bays, was a small miracle. "Hey," Bucky said to him quietly. 

That tender quirk of Steve's lips returned. Bucky felt centered and off-kilter all at once. "Hi." 

"S'a little bit bigger than storming warehouses with the Howlies to take out a couple dozen Hydra agents, yeah?" 

Steve snorted, barely a huff of a noise. "Just a bit, sure." 

"And that means it's gonna be dangerous. That means…,” he swallowed, the words building up and attempting to smother him from the inside out. “That means we’ll be walking out with less people than we walked on with.”

“I try not to think about that sort of thing. If there’s any place we have the high ground, it’s Wakanda.”

“I know, I know, I just— look at me," Bucky took hold of his forearm, metal fingers pressing, _pressing_ , said it again. "Look at me, Steve." 

Steve did, was. He didn't know a time when, if he was in vicinity, Steve  _wasn't_ looking at him. All this time and he was still the only one that really saw Bucky as he was. "I am, Buck." 

A fierceness possessed him, fueled by the years that were stolen from him, from the both of them. "I've fought with you before and this ain't anything like those other times, so you got to promise me something, okay? Promise me that you won't go looking for the heart of all the trouble. Promise me, for once in your god damn life that you'll use that head of yours and apply some sort of self-preservation." 

"I don't—"

"Don't what? Find the biggest bad guy available and try to take them on single-handedly? Steve, there was a time when I  _was_ the biggest bad guy and you nearly let me kill you." 

"That wasn't—"

"Me? That wasn't me?" Bucky's eyes closed hard, his breath shooting out of his nostrils. "I will have the memory of your face beaten and bloody and bruised in my head until the day I die. It might not have been me as I am now, but my hands hurt you. And I'll never forget that. Please, Steve. If we get through this, we have a chance to walk away, and I’m not going to give that up easy.”

He was nodding before Bucky even finished, his bangs flopping onto his forehead. “Okay, Buck. I’ll be careful.”

“You’ll be more than just careful,” Bucky grumbled, brushing the soft strands out of Steve’s face, tucking them away. “Vigilant. And for the love of Christ don’t go up against this Thanos by yourself—comm in, get _help_.”

Bucky’s voice was starting to give out, the real worry seeping into his words so each letter shook upon delivery. Steve’s gave him a stupidly gentle look, cocked his head a few degrees to the right. “Buck—”

So many years wasted. More than he would care to count.

Bucky raised his hand to cup the back of Steve’s neck and hauled him in, covering Steve’s mouth with his own. There was only a beat where Steve was still and unresponsive, but between one breath and the next, Steve’s hands were spanning Bucky’s waist, tugging him in so their pelvises aligned. Bucky slung an arm around his neck, his flesh hand weaving into the thick, thick hair at Steve’s nape. They were so close, Bucky felt Steve’s own heart thrumming in his ribs.

“How long?” Steve whispered between kisses, surging back in. A hint of tongue. A taste of Steve. Best flavor in the world.

“Too long,” Bucky murmured, fingers finding Steve’s jaw and stroking. The beard left a tingling path against his skin behind, the lower part of Bucky’s face likely flushed from contact with it. “Too fucking long for neither of us not to have done something about it.”

No one had come for them yet, or they hadn’t to Bucky’s knowledge. That didn’t mean their pilfered moment wasn’t close to being over.

He pulled back so there was just enough space to speak without their lips brushing. "This ain't the end of the line for us. You hear me?" 

Steve dipped in, stole the breath right out of his lungs with the depth of the kiss. "Yeah," he breathed. "I hear you." 

 

* * *

 

It was complete and utter chaos. 

Bucky had thought he'd known the meaning of the word, but... He had never seen anything like this. Masses of creatures had rushed them from the forest, taking down the Hulk-Buster in a swarm of black, wriggling masses. The Wakandian tech was good, sure, but their numbers swamped anything they had.

He’d not been able to keep his sights on Steve for as long as he wished, losing him to cacophony of noise and the injured shrieks of the creatures. His own breathing was abnormally calm and steady for all he’d been rushing from brawl to brawl, firing off his weapon with perfect accuracy every time.

Romanoff took out one of the creatures that almost reached him from behind. Bucky had no time to nod at her in thanks as she’d already pitched herself into another fight.

Bucky had shoved through to the opposing side of the field, nearly at the alcove that Wanda had taken Vision for protection. A glint of gold caught his eye. He might have thought it was the Dora Miljae’s accents in their armor, but he could not be so fortunate, not after his luck seemed to have turned around as of late.

Legs, pumping, forcing his muscles to work faster at the sight of Wanda crumpled at the heap of a tree, of Vision curled over her. If she were dead, Vision would be doing more and that wasn’t nearly as much of a comfort as he wished it could be not when—

Bucky’s heart came to a stuttering halt in his chest: Steve, almost obscured if Bucky wasn't so used to finding him in places he wasn't supposed to be, was boot to boot with Thanos. He gripped the golden gauntlet in both his hands, despite one of the purple fucker’s arms being the size of his torso.

The mad titan looked as though his day had just been made.

What could Bucky do but tighten the grip he had on his gun and sprint through the brush, hair whipping at his neck, a wordless shout clawing out of his throat.

It was just enough of a distraction.

(It was not enough.)

 

* * * 

 

There was blood. God, there was so much blood. 

"Steve!  _Steve—_!"

 

* * *

 

If Wilson hadn't airlifted Steve out of there, got him to Shuri's lab and that miraculous table that could heal just about anything, Steve would have died. That much was clear.

It took hours, nearly a whole day, before Steve’s eyelids fluttered and Bucky—Bucky just—

“I’m _furious_ with you,” he growled and if it hadn’t been for Shuri’s warning to avoid jostling Steve too much, he would have physically shaken him. “You had one job, one, Steve and you just—“

With what existed of his returning strength, Steve drew him in for a kiss, cutting off his words in the most effective way possible. He deflated, just enough to feel Steve’s tired smile against his mouth.

“—not going to work,” Bucky pulled back, pressing their foreheads together, their noses aligned. “You can’t just kiss me to get out of an argument.”

“I can try,” Steve mumbled, eyes still bleary and unfocused.  

“You’re an idiot.”

“M’your idiot.”

Wilson, who’d been watching the whole thing from the sidelines, threw up his hands in exasperation.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t like to think about what they lost. Who they lost.

In the end, the hardest fight was ensuring none of the sacrifices had been made in vain.

 

* * *

 

Once the dust settled and he and Steve found a bed they could both squeeze into, they slept for nearly two days, trying to regain a fraction of the energy they’d lost. Their sleep was without fits, nightmares warded off due to the pure exhaustion wracking both their systems. He woke with Steve’s arms threaded around his middle, Steve’s nose a cool point of contact against his cheek.

Bucky turned over in his arms, found Steve up and watching him.

“So,” he murmured. “What do you want to do now?”

And Steve smiled. Bucky would never tire of the sight. “I have a couple of ideas.”

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t been back to New York in a very long time. The street their old building used to stand on had completely transformed. For starters, their building had apparently been demolished in the eighties for having an uncontrollable breakout of mold and for just generally being a rickety wooden fire hazard. So they found a new place, a brownstone with cherry trees out front, and three steps leading up to the door, roof access which allowed them to watch the sunrise over the tops of the surrounding complexes.

Wilson came by on Tuesday nights for beer and bad reality television, often with Romanoff, who tended to visit at odd hours throughout the week and wasn’t seen at all on the weekend. The spider-kid often swung by—literally webbing past their building—and Steve had started leaving juice boxes out on the fire escape for him which Bucky thought was greatly endearing.

Bucky learned to cook more modern meals, as they’d eaten enough cabbage soup for one lifetime during the Depression. Steve took up art again, filling sketchbook upon sketchbook like a man possessed, like he’d been clogged up for so long and now the creative juices just wouldn’t stop bursting out of him. They had a record collection, something equal parts theirs, and sometimes, if they couldn’t sleep, they’d put on Billie Holiday and sway together in the living room to the songbird’s voice. Bucky tried more foods than he’d ever thought existed, made a list of those he preferred and those he would decidedly never allow near him again. Steve got a new motorcycle, one used to take rides upstate, to hit the beach for a daytrip if they felt inclined.

They learned to be more open with one another—if they had something to say, they’d say it.

 _I love you_ was their favorite thing.

They had the freedom to do as they pleased, go anywhere they wanted—apparently saving the universe was the key to gaining immunity for any past crimes.  

This home they’d made was theirs.

And there was nothing in the world that could take that away from them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is pointedly ambiguous and vague in some places (like my repetition of "the creatures" shown in the battle of wakanda because I literally have no idea wtf they are supposed to be. And I'm also just stretching a few theories and putting together similar backgrounds to try and tie off some knots, here, such as Steve going up against Thanos because Thanos located Wanda and Vision, knocked Wanda out and to keep Vision from directly interacting, Steve pulled his self-sacrificing shit because he's STEVE. 
> 
> BUT LIKE AFTER THINKING ABOUT IT, WOULDN'T IT BE TRULY ICONIC IF STEVE DIDN'T DIE? LIKE???? ALL THIS FEAR OF HIM DYING AND THEN HE TURNS OUT FINE HAHAHAHAHA I'M IN DENIAL :)
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
